Hello! This is a multi-chaptered project which I shall work on in my spare time, so I cannot guarantee any semblance of regularity when updating.
This is basically Sherlock as told by the beloved John Watson, but in the format of a mythological tale, but with direct parallels both to Arthurian lore and to Sherlock Holmes.
Remember the story that Moriarty tells us? Well, this is the real story of Sir Boast-a-Lot.
What follows is an attempt to accurately portray the whole story of Sir Boast-a-Lot. The reason why this is only an attempt is because I am his friend, thus I may not be the best of witnesses regarding the events further described since I am biased in his favour.
And so it begins.
First of all, my name is John Watson, son of Hamish of Devonshire. I am not a knight, nor have I ever intended to be one; I am a medicine man of King Arthur's court, and I have seen war but never sought it. I came back from battles with the peoples southeast of our Camelot wounded and alone with nowhere to go, immediately drawn to Camelot itself; where else is a man in search of a new beginning to go to other than the city that is both the sewer of mankind and a testament to its glory? My profession of being a medical man is one that is not terribly rare around these parts, and yet often we are in deficit of people who can adequately perform this work that we do.
Camelot is beautiful. It is large, busy, and in its glory it is overpowering. Once in the city itself, I stumbled upon an old friend of mine who realised my lack of housing and offered me a place at a boarding house of his friend's mother's. Having nowhere else to go, I agreed.
This is where my tale commences, and I must apologise for my hurried introduction, but what follows is not only the true beginning of this tale, it is also the true beginning of the most interesting period of my own life.
As I walked into the large, well-constructed building on the Street of Bakers (one of the most appetising regions of the city, I daresay), I immediately heard an atrocious screeching sound that vaguely resembled a stringed instrument ringing out from somewhere above, up the stairwell and down the hall, it seemed. Whilst cringing, I took a look around; well-furnished, the rooms that my vision had access to were full of small nothings, such as carvings made by both adults and children, as well as an occasional mould or sculpture. The cloth on which I was standing looked foreign, more of eastern design with thin branches and lines all intertwining into something large and interesting, such symmetric patterns in each of the corners.
What was even more intriguing, however, was the tapestry on the wall; it was of a man wearing armour, seemingly a knight, slaying a large green-coloured dragon with scales of cyan and azure, and a large gem in the lizard's talon-endowed hands. The man's face looked foreign, but not as the origin of the cloth on the floor, no. His facial features were elongated, the zygomatic structure somewhat exaggerated, and his eyes seemed piercingly multi-coloured even in cloth.
As I looked away, by the time that I understood that the infernal sounds have stopped I met the eyes themselves only about a metre away from me, even more shrewd in reality, and examined their owner quite amicably. He was tall (almost intimidatingly so), his face was strange but not devoid of charm, and the rest of his demeanour made him seem almost proud. Whoever had made the tapestry was quite talented because the impression of his physiognomy and overall persona was perfectly captured by the silver and coloured thread.
"Danes or Normans?" this strange man asked me after looking me over for a brief second, then added quite intently, "Do you have a sword on you?"
Hope you like this! The next chapter will be longer, I promise. This is more of an introduction than anything else.
I'd appreciate a review, any thoughts or suggestions would be amazing; I'd be lying if I said they don't motivate me ;)